


Lost in Time

by PerfectlyHopeless



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/F, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:17:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21600640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectlyHopeless/pseuds/PerfectlyHopeless
Summary: This was the day that made her happiest.
Kudos: 1





	Lost in Time

**Author's Note:**

> Recently in our game, my character Mae (a firbolg who's mind has been altered heavily by the death of the nature goddess) was put through extremely stressful circumstances and fell into a temporary state of catatonia in which she became stuck in this memory. 
> 
> This is stylized in a way that removes names due to the passage I read in the firbolg section in Volo's Guide that says that they don't use names, but are often given them by outsiders.
> 
> Previously shared with my D&D group's Roll20 forum.

* * *

The day was sunny and calm, the slightest breeze blowing through the thick canopy of trees above the firbolg with feathers in her hair. She carried a large, woven basket under one of her strong arms. It was filled first with suitable kindling for her home, fruits and nuts tucked into the makeshift nest. Under the other arm was a mass of river cane poles twice her length with the leaves trailing behind and making a rustling sound as they dragged along the forest floor. She hummed to herself a roaming song:

_Away, away, the Mother calls_

_Away, away, our journey's begun_

_Our new home we'll find_

_By the setting sun_

_We travel again, come everyone_

Music could be heard as she approached the makeshift village of stone homes erected by the chosen of the Fae Mother. It was abuzz with energy and movement as it often was, music and dancing casually livening the central gathering circle. There was no special occasion to be celebrated. Just happy people glad to be alive. These events were often spontaneous, and the one with feathers in her hair couldn't help but smile and feel the energy resonate deep within her. 

"Feathered sister!" her tale singing brother called out her signature when he saw her. They were not related by blood, but all raised together were called family with many mothers and fathers and siblings. The smile he gave at the sight of her took up half his face and even reached his eyes and ears. He stood much taller than her, the top of her head barely at his shoulders when he came to embrace her in a full bodied hug. She nuzzled against him but her arms too were occupied to hug him back. "How was your hunt?"

Her dark brown eyes rolled a little at his phrasing and she gestured with her head towards the basket. "Kindling for my fire, cane for the artisans and hunters, along with some berries for dyes that I've been wanting to craft." Her face brightened as she recalled, "Oh! And this." With no free hands, she shifted the basket around to stick her head in, pulling out a near pristine eagle feather in her mouth to show off. 

"Beautiful!" he praised her find. "I cannot wait to see you wear it in your braids."

She beamed as she put the feather back in the basket. "How are your songs coming along this evening?" she asked as the tale singer clapped a large hand on her shoulder, the two walking towards the artisans and their little station nearby. "You had some trouble this morning with one, I remember."

He nodded somberly but his mood picked up easily enough. "Indeed. I think after tonight's meal I will commune with the Lore Keeper and ask for guidance."

"Why not the Sun Father?"

"Not this time," he rejected. "I wish for new perspective. The new arrival exchanged from the sister clan we convened with speaks highly of her, and I wish to learn."

"The Lore Keeper is an excellent teacher," the one with feathers acknowledged as she dropped the canes and her basket, taking a seat on the ground near the main fire as she began to knock the leaves off of the cane with the blade from her belt, a task that needed to be done quickly before the shoots dried and became less cooperative. "The new arrival. What is she like?"

"A strong warrior, I saw that she was training with the redguard and holding her own against our strongest Chosen sentinels."

"What about her personality?" she asked, going through the cane with ease and an eagerness to hear more.

"Very kind. Patient. Eager to learn. And I have heard that she enjoys leatherwork."

"Creative or utilitarian?"

"Both, actually. She brought some of her carved work with her when she left to become one of our people, it's quite beautiful," he said, twirling his thick wooden flute between thicker fingers. He smiled knowingly as he looked down at his sister. “You are interested in her?

The one with feathers turned her face away, allowing strands of her long honey blonde hair to halfway cover her face as she felt her cheeks warm. Her left ear twitched involuntarily and the little charms pierced to it made the smallest chiming sound, a tell of her embarrassment and anxiety that the tale singer recognized instantly after nearly 40 years. Her brother knelt beside her, brushing her hair back over her shoulder and looking at her expectantly. Until she finally said, "It is foolish, I know."

He shook his head at this. "My feathered sister, you are not a fool. Perhaps naive at times, but a fool you are not."

"But I have no true role with which to serve our people, therefore I am unfit for any potential mate,” she argued, though she cringed at her own lie as it came out of her mouth.

“That is an outdated convention that even our oldest elders have disregarded,” he said. She shied away again, fidgeting with the hilt of her blade and not wanting to admit that he was right. “You are simply insecure.”

"I am incredibly insecure, that is just a fact," she said somewhat in jest before looking somber. "But you have your place, you perform and inspire our people. You already have a mate who adores you. Do you not remember what it is like?"

"My sister, you have nothing to worry about. She who makes art from death will not shun you, and I suggest that when you finish your work on the cane, you go to speak with her." 

Her head bowed as she continued her work, face still warm and ears twitching. "I will... consider it. But this cane will not prepare itself."

"Do not give yourself more work in order to avoid this," he said, patting the top of her head before standing. "I must return to the band, we still have work to do. But speak to her, little sister."

"I… I will consider it."

Her brother shook his head but smiled all the same as he left her to her work. The one with feathers in her hair continued with her work, getting the shoots to be perfect before laying them out to dry. It was nearly sunset as she finally finished her work. 

The hunters had returned from their outing, sentinels were rotating shifts, and the evening meal was being set up by the cooks as she found her way back towards the music. Floating lights danced around the grounds, sounds of the evening mixing with the flutes and strings of the band. She who chases the sun was addressing a small handful of elders off to the side, offering the one with feathers a cursory smile as she stepped to the pots and pans with a bowl handy to grab something to eat.

She took her food and sat by the music, enjoying the energy and smiling as she watched her clan mates dance. Across the way she could see the new arrival dancing with a few others that she recognized, like a Chosen of the Fae Mother called he who guides the land and an artisan called she who pierces the skin. But her eyes remained trained on the newest clan member, watching the graceful way she moved as she danced full bodied with sweeping arms and swiveling hips. Her long black hair was tied back in many little braids with beads and charms that made sound as she twirled, her light brown facial features long and defined by sharp angles while a pair of stark gold eyes shined in the lights. The one with feathers didn't realize that she had been staring until their eyes met, each holding the other's gaze for longer than usually acceptable before she turned away sharply, hiding her face behind honey colored hair as she quickly finished her meal and stood, walking away as she kept her head down as though to hide. 

“Excuse me,” she heard a heavily accented voice say from behind her. Evidently, the attempt at hiding failed terribly. Her ears fell slightly as she froze in place, slowly turning around to look up, finding the new arrival looking down her with piercing gold eyes that almost seemed to glow. “You are the feathered sister of the one who sings his knowledge?”

She blinked in surprise, straightening herself out a little and tucking her hair behind her ears, exposing some of the feathers that had earned her the signature. “I am. And you are the one who makes art from death.”

The use of a new signature caught the arrival off guard for a moment, blinking in surprise but also relief. Signatures meant acceptance to their people and were particularly important for exchanges. “Your siblings speak well of you,” she said with a smile. Her accent was thick with the north-eastern dialect that her former clan used, and her head tilted slightly as she looked the feathered one over. “I was wondering if you would care to dance with me?”

Dark brown eyes widening, the one with feathers stammered slightly. “Wha-... I mean, I-” She tried to laugh away the thought as ridiculous as the artist tilted her head the other way, brows furrowing. Swallowing the hard lump of anxiety forming in her throat, she finally nodded affirmatively as she dropped her tense shoulders away from her ears. “Yes. I would love to dance with you.”

Without a second thought or chance to consider changing her mind, both of her hands were grabbed, the feathered one hardly able to set down her dinner bowl before being pulled towards the music. The tale singer winked at her from the band as he played his flute as a bass drum kept a beat and a stringed instrument provided a competing melody. Her dance partner smiled brightly and took the lead while she let herself relax, eyes closing so that she just felt the music and warmth that her tale singer's flute magic filled her with and the unique comfort of holding someone's hand while they danced.

To her pleasant surprise, the two spent the rest of the evening hours together, sitting and speaking. Of the past, of the present, of the future, and finding their similarities in not having a set place in their world just yet. Of being young and curious but wanting stability all the same. Becoming friends with perhaps the potential for more. She with feathers dared to hope that in time they could become more. 

As the music began to wane and the Chosens' lights slowly went out, she reached into a longer pouch on her belt. "I found this today while running my chores for the artisans," she prefaced as she presented the black and brown speckled eagle feather to the artist. Golden eyes lit up at the sight of it. "Perhaps it is too soon to present gifts, and I will not think ill of you if you reject it, but I would like for you to have it."

The death artist picked it up delicately, running her fingers down the soft vane. "It is beautiful. Are you sure that you wish to part with it?"

"I have more than enough," she chuckled, running a hand over the braids on the underside of her hair and the many, many feathers sewn into the plaits. 

"Could you… tie this to my hair the way you have yours?"

A smile touched her face as she nodded, pulling thread and a bone needle from her belt pouch to wrap the end of the feather's shaft. "Here, turn this way," she said, a hand carefully guiding the artist's face away so she could take one of her braids. The feathered one threaded the bone needle with the loose cord, nearly a foot in length, coming from the wrap around the shaft. She chose a braid just behind her left ear, placing the feather between a pair of red stained wooden beads, and began to sew through the soft black strands, her practiced hands getting into a steady rhythm until she was satisfied with her work. She bent forward after tying the final knot and cut the excess cord between her sharp canines. "There. Perfect."

The artist's long ears quirked at this, a bashful smile on her face as she looked at her from the corner of her eye. "I suppose I should give you a gift in return."

"That's unnecessary," was the response, a reassuring smile given as well. "You may consider it my way of welcoming you into our clan."

"May I?" the artist joked, facing her and leaning in her direction. Her expression went from teasing to sensual as she looked her face over, a slight tension between them as their eyes met. 

The feathered one glanced down at her hand that was now holding the artist's, smiling shyly. "You may."

Both were old enough to have experience kissing, and doing so platonically was regarded as a mundane part of their culture, but as their lips met this one felt different. Warmer. Perhaps it was just a trick of the mind. Or perhaps not. But the one with feathers felt as though she were floating until they broke apart, both of them smiling. 

"Oi!" an authoritative voice snapped. It was one of the Chosen sentinels donned in red wooden armor and carrying a spear and shield with an ornate tree carved into the face. "Lights are going out. I suggest you return to your homes."

The suggestion was just that. A suggestion. And the moon was near full enough for there to still be light once the lights were out. But it was very late and the redguard had their night shifts to attend to without interference. 

"We'll return at once," the one who makes art from death assured. The sentinel nodded his approval and carried on to speak with others who were lingering. She turned back to the one with feathers, both of them nodding to each other before standing. "Thank you for spending tonight with me, she who is lost but on her way."

Becoming bashful at the new signature, she found herself stammering again. “I-I, um, yeah. Yes. Thank you. For wanting to spend it with me, I mean.”

The artist chuckled at this, giving her a peck on the cheek. “I will see you tomorrow. Good night.”

For a long moment she stared, watching her walk off to the otherside of the stone village until one by one the Chosen’s lights went out, leaving her in the beautiful moonbeam and feeling lost to time. 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Chosen of the Fae Mother_ : refers to Clerics, Paladins, and Druids. Redguard (the clan's security/defensive guardians) sentinels are generally Paladins or battle Clerics (Chosen), but Fighters are also trained to defend. Barbarians came post-Cataclysm and most are Storm Heralds like Mae.
> 
>  _Fae Mother_ : Astratha (goddess of nature)
> 
>  _Sun Father_ : Nolator (god of life)
> 
>  _Lore Keeper_ : Oratha (goddess of knowledge)
> 
>  _Signature_ : Titles given between clanmates, can change drastically depending on who is using it. Either be poetic or literal.


End file.
